The Resurrection of Erik
by Your Siha
Summary: The story is over only when Erik is dead and buried. But now that Erik has been resurrected, the tale of the Phantom of the Opera and all involved continues with twice the trials and adventure. With new and old characters, how will Erik be stopped now?
1. The Mysterious Message

Disclaimer: I own nothing Phantom...just Windows Vista and a keyboard and a lot of spare time

Welcome to the dark tale that is the Resurrection of Erik, the first in the phiction series that I plan to write in the spare hours of my lonely life. This is not like most phics in the Phantom world. In this phic you, the reader, are taken through a tale of mystery, romance, passion, light humor, and gore in detailed way. Here you will experiance old characters, new characters, various shippings, and most importantly, a begining that begins with a BANG.

Without further adieu, I give you:

* * *

Resurrection of Erik

Chapter One

Inspector Armand Ledoux Khan

The Mysterious Message

Resurrection of Erik

Chapter One

Inspector Armand Ledoux Khan

The Mysterious Message

It began with a letter. Once I had it in my hands, the letter edged in black, I should have foreseen the turmoil it would cause me. I should have known that it would change my life forever. However, I did not. I was stupid, pompous Inspector with no thoughts in my logical mind, but the case at hand, the case of the Opera Ghost.

Yes, I should have known that the letter was evil once it touched my tan palm, once my emerald eyes lay upon it. I never foresaw how an innocent envelope could bring such evil onto everyone in the Palais Garnier, the grand opera house.

It was my error, my doing and because of my actions and my foolishness, people suffered. People died.

I have failed.

~*~

_To whom it may concern,_

_By the time that you finish reading this letter, you will know that the Phantom of the Opera is dead. Right now, I have no doubts that you are staring at my unearthed grave, wondering how in the world it came about. I will explain nothing to you, Sir, for I have no reason to. That would ruin the game. That would ruin my fun. After your little experience, I would expect you to think me quite monstrous. You are correct, but keep in mind that all I do in this life is for love and for revenge. Even so, you, my friend, and many others, are about to embark on the greatest journey- or adventure if you please-of your pitiful life. I know I am. _

_Happy hunting,_

_ Erik_

And so the mysterious letter ended as quickly and formally as it began. For me, the haunting thing was how proper it was. If I had not just plucked it from an unearthed grave, I, the most acclaimed detective in all of France, would have mistaken it for a letter of business. But how far it was from that!

At that time, I was by a well that was so tiny and insignificant that you wouldn't believe it to be anything at all. Adjacent to the small thing was a hole about 6 feet deep and 7 feet across. Some of the men here, mostly the ones spooked by the sceneshifters' ghost stories, think it's a grave. I don't know what to think of it. I do not believe in ghosts.

Taking out my pocket watch, I checked the hour: 43 minutes past 3 in the morning. I was already quite exhausted from an entire day of excavation and searching the mysterious underground chambers with no trace of any evidence.

My men and I had been down here for 3 hours. We started with the 1st cellar and some have even now moved onto the 4th and 5th, but only my hardest workers.

I'm told that there's a house in the 5th, if you made it far enough and past the lake, but I do not know. All I was certain of was that I was on the 3rd cellar of the grand Opera Garnier.

Of course, it wasn't so grand since the infamous incidents involving the equally mysterious Phantom of the Opera. It was not the first time that I found myself in the cellars of the Opera and I doubt it will be the last. So far, all cases filed in this "haunted building" have turned cold.

Perhaps the notorious masked man was right and I should not work his men to the bone for a useless cause. However, I, being the loyal and trusting type, knew in my heart that this case would stand for it wasn't as most cases brought to me, and this was saying something!

I was only 25 at the time and served on the force for 5 measly years, but they were incredibly educational. Then again, it was also the 4th time that my men and I have come to this place. Out of all of the cases that we've been put on, the unexplained Garnier continues to puzzle us. All other cases, I'm proud to say, have been a great success.

For that, I couldn't help but hope that by this time my father would not look at me with those disapproving eyes, just as green and haunting as my own.

"Inspector Ledoux?" One of my higher-ranking men made his way to me carrying some sort of sack.

I raised my lantern to illuminate the gray tunnels. By squinting my eyes, I could make out the form of my lieutenant, Girard.

Girard and I attended the police academy together and graduated in the same class. I graduated valedictorian though he was a considerable years my senior. It was rumored that he would have graduated first if it weren't for his fancy for liquor.

I would hardly call us friends, but I'd say that we were more acquaintances at this point. In the years I have known him, there has always been an air of envy between us. I for his carefree lifestyle and he for my position and ranking.

From afar, I could tell that the sack was not in the best condition. In fact, it was the opposite. Yellow and browning, the large bag slumped over Lieutenant Girard's strong shoulders giving off a nasty odor causing me to hold back a gag.

"Yes, Lieutenant Girard? What do we have here?" I said in my detective voice as I took out my notebook from my knapsack. Hopefully this would be a clue to this never-ending mystery.

I looked back up at Girard's face to find his eyes half closed and an expression of content across his bearded face. I sniffed the air to find it smelling heavily of rum, and a good brand at that!

"Girard, have you tapped into the opera's alcohol supply?"

He merely giggled and put one unkempt finger to his lips. "Is it that noticeable?"

Despite what others thought of him, Girard was a good man. From my understanding, he even had a wife and a couple of children. I suppose the thing I liked most about Girard, or that I liked enough to keep him on the squad, was that he was never sloppy with his work. True, he was often drunk and disorderly on the job, but it was always done so thoroughly that it looked like he had been sober for years. That is what makes a good inspector, you see. I should know more than anyone.

My father shipped me off to the police academy when I was only 13. I found a way to incorporate the characteristics required of a good officer of the law hoping it would earn the admiration or respect of my father. He himself served many years as a well respected officer from our homeland. He never told me why he left if he was in such high favors. Then again, we barely spoke. Unfortunately for me, my father is near impossible to please. In fact, to this day, I still find that earning his love is my main drive.

"We found this in the house…in a coffin," Girard said in slurred speech as he untied the satchel.

What I saw next sickened me.

In the dark depths of the bag, the mangled body of Comte Philippe de Changy was starring back at me. His mouth was agape in horror and across his noble neck was what appeared to have burn marks. A gash ran from his chin to his collarbone like a vertical smile. The Comte was bled dry. I could see spores and fungus growing from inside his mouth and on the large wound. The smell was unbearable. Could this really be the refined Comte?

I held a handkerchief to my mouth and nose as I waved the gory monstrosity away. I was a detective for God's sake, not a morgue!

I felt faint after seeing so much blood, dried and not, that a few of my men had to steady me. A weak stomach had always been my worst enemy.

"We're dealing with a killer, Sir," one of the men piped.

"We knew that before. This shouldn't be a surprise for us. At least it's some evidence we can show the Chief. Maybe then he'll see how important this case is," I pointed out with authority.

All of the men nodded in agreement, which I had no doubts that they would. We were all fed up with the Chief Inspector's behavior towards the opera cases. He often dismissed them as "accidents" which all the men on the squad knew very well that that wasn't the case.

"We also found this," Girard said as fumbled about in the sack once more. With blood covered hands, he handed me yet another note. "It was attached to his forehead."

I unfolded the paper with trembling fingers and read aloud to the men gathered around me:

_To Whom It May Concern:_

_Comte Philippe de Changy broke the rules._

This time, the letter was not signed, nor was it formal, and God knows it wasn't as personal! In fact, if the letter had not been in the same unique handwriting, I would think that we were dealing with two different people.

I deftly shoved the note into my waistcoat pocket when I heard the first shout.

"Let's find this man and bring him to justice!" cried Girard in his drunken state.

There were cries of agreement and threats against our killer until I raised my hand for them to cease. They did so obediently.

"In good time, gentlemen, I'm sure we will. Patience is a virtue and a testament for us police officers to live by. Let's not get overly confident. True, I'm sure that the de Changy family will be quite pleased with the…" I glanced at the rotting sack now molding in the corner, "…discovery of the late Comte's remains. But remember, that's all we have now."

"That and these notes." I held them up for the growing crowd to see. "Let's hope that the Chief won't take _this _one as a suicide attempt."

I gestured to the dead man's bag as my colleagues grumped about our last encounter with the opera and a gentleman, or not so much as I'm told, by the name of Buquet.

Last we were here; the poor man was found hanging in the 4th cellar, only one cellar below where I stood now. This was the first of many accounts, the last one being around two weeks ago from a very worried de Changy family. In fact, the Paris police has to the Opera Garnier so often that I considered buying season tickets.

"Take heed friends," I continued, "we are dealing with a master criminal and so far he holds the ace."

Everyone around me was silent.

I've been told that I make good speeches and that I drive fear and sense into people. Even Girard was silent as I spoke. People go as far as saying that I should go into politics, but that will never be in _my_ future.

I stepped down from the platform by the well. In doing so, my cape swished about me, the very cape that my wife insisted I wear. "It's cold in the cellars," she had said. I wish that she could be down here with me, but it would be far too dangerous. She, who had lived in the Opera her whole life, knew this the most of anyone.

Why did I even marry if I was always afraid of losing her? Was it because I fell in love?, Perhaps this Erik person is correct. Perhaps love is some sort virus that leaves us men dumbfounded.

Is that why he does the things he does? For love? Hell, that's why I do the things I do. I wouldn't even dream of spending 3 grueling hours in the sewers if I knew I didn't have mouths to feed.

I walked over to the well that caught my eye earlier. It was the strangest thing. So tiny was it that it couldn't be substantial to carry much water and yet here it was. From recent reports, I'm now quite confident that there is a lake on the 5th cellar. That would explain the amount of humidity and moistness of the dark and dank basements of the Opera. However, it did not explain the usage of a well, especially one as puny as this. Why, my 2-month-old son would take it for a plaything!

I crouched down to get a closer look. It seemed to be an average well, brick based and a brownish russet color from moss. I ran my tan fingers in the creases, collecting who knows what on my index finger. Suddenly, I felt a disturbance in my pathway. I quickly rubbed off the muck to reveal some sort of symbol. I was just about to get a closer look when I heard a voice from behind.

"Sir, the Chief has arrived."

"Good," I stated as I shifted through my thoughts, "send him down."

My men parted like the red sea as the stout man treaded through the muck. As he stepped over the unearthed filth, he had no qualms about it horrendously staining his white suit. He just walked on, cane in hand, until he reached me. I gave a gracious bow. Seeing the great amount of filth on his trousers irked me so that I offered him my handkerchief only to have it waved away by his fat little hand.

"No, thank you," he responded as he settled himself atop the well I was examining only a moment ago. I was surprised that a little thing could support a mass such as him!

Chief Gaston Leroux was the most peculiar man. He was sloppy yet neat. He was courteous, yet incredibly rude. Most of all, he was also a good and bad detective. Chief Leroux had the greatest observation skills I had ever seen yet he lacked the real passion for police work. He didn't want to admit that a crime had ever been committed and settled for any sort of misdemeanor suggested. In short, he was a crowd-pleaser. Leroux never wanted to start a fight or cause any trouble.

I used to wonder why he became a detective in the first place if he hated the reality of it all so much. I was later told that Leroux used to travel all over and do all sorts of things. He had also been a journalist, a lawyer, a theatre critic, and even, so I hear, traveled incognito in dangerous countries. I've also heard that he's interested in writing but I doubt that a man as unimaginative as Leroux has ever had a creative thought in his life.

The sad truth was that Leroux was no longer the exciting man in the stories told by aspiring officers.

"Chief Leroux," I said addressing him with the proper title, "we found the body of the Comte and we think it to be murder."

As he listened to my words, his little spectacles lowered on his small, pointed nose. "Are you certain of this, Inspector? There have been many _murders_ in this opera house lately."

I attempted to hide the grimace on my face. This man, although awe-inspiringly clever, was also the most ignorant man I had ever met in my life.

"We found this one with his throat slashed…in a coffin."

To my somewhat delight, a look of worry clouded over Leroux's face. Perhaps now he would take these cases as seriously as most of the police did. After all, he was the Chief of Police; he should care the most out of any of us.

"Let's have a look at the body then," he inquired as he attempted to stand up.

My attention snapped from the mysterious well back to him as he wildly gestured for me to assist him. It took an extra two men to get his massive hindquarters off the tiny well.

After that heavy lifting, we escorted our Chief to the 4th cellar, taking care that did not trip or miss a step for we knew there would be no obstruction should he fall. We all exchanged small talk as we progressed through the dungeons. Leroux even went as far as clamping my shoulder so hard that I thought I would tumble over.

As far as I knew, Leroux liked me. More than that, he favored me. I was, after all, the youngest inspector on the squad and half the age of most men who had been on the force triple my 5 years. As far as I know, my men don't carry any coals over the great age difference. We were equals. To add to my unique resume, I am also a foreigner and would usually not even be permitted to serve in the police at all. I can thank my high marks in the academy for the respect I had in the field. Even so, my father and I made a mutual decision to change my surname to something more French. Hence, why I'm known as Armand Ledoux and not Armand Khan as I was born.

Hopefully it wasn't the similarity of name that will keep me in Leroux's favors.

At last, we arrived to the site where they were performing the autopsy of the body. I thought it to be more of a dissection the way he was cut open. I couldn't help but to look away.

Normally, the autopsy would take place some time after a person's death, but considering the condition of the body, the medics thought it best to carry out the gut-wrenching deed right then and there.

The Comte still had that same look of horror on his face as before. Leroux must have sensed my discomfort. At that moment, he crouched down, with less difficulty this time, and closed the bulging eyes of the Comte. Leroux's large hand laid on the poor noble's forehead for awhile until at least he stood with no assistance.

Leroux was many things, but no one could accuse him of being uncompassionate.

"Yes…yes I do believe this was murder. The wounds speak for themselves."

My shoulders rose and then sunk with relief. "I'm glad that we're all in accord then, Chief Leroux."

The normally jolly Leroux merely nodded and walked away from the dead man. I could not say that I blamed him. I did not wish to linger near the mutilated corpse either. It would be quite embarrassing to vomit in from of the Chief of the Paris police!

"Was anything found on the body, Ledoux?" Leroux inquired with a professional tone.

At the word "found" I had already been fumbling in my coat pockets for message that was attached to the Comte's forehead previously.

"Only this, Sir." I handed him the tiny slip of paper, not knowing how he would react to it.

"'Broke the rules?'" Leroux questioned with raised eyebrows.

"We're not sure what that means yet, Chief, but it does resemble the same messages placed on the bodies of Buquet and Ubaldo Piangi, the stagehand and the tenor, we found dead a few weeks ago, in a similar way. All of the notes state that the victim had broken some kind of rule," I said taking out a magnifying glass.

"But take a look at the note. See how dry the ink is on this one?" Leroux nodded in agreement as I took out the other note. "This was found in a hole on the 3rd, Sir. The men are calling it a grave. If you can see past the dirt, look at the ink. It's considerably fresher than the other! We're confident that it's written by the same person, this Erik, but at different times!"

"This one," I said holding the one we found most recently "must have been written two weeks ago at the most. And this one," I said again holding up the first note," perhaps 3 _hours_ ago." I had been staring down at my notepad the entire time, avoiding any eye contact, but I could tell that the seriousness in my voice clearly fazed him.

"You don't think he's still down here, do you?" Leroux inquired with fear in his voice.

"We have no idea, Sir," I responded truthfully. "We've found no one yet. The men are just beginning to touch base with the 5th cellar."

"This really is the most interesting thing. Not only does this explain the other deaths, perhaps _murders_ now, but…it will explain more in time." He looked down at the moist note from the "grave."

"I wonder who this Erik is…" He looked thoughtfully at the note as if it were his newborn child. "Erik…"

Leroux suddenly looked around as if he was hearing music. If there were music, it would be too soft to hear. I heard no music. The silence from the talkative man frightened me. I wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder to make sure he was alright but as quickly as he was put under the spell, he snapped out of it in seconds time.

"Let's go back up," he stated motioning with the cane that never left his side. "I want to get a closer look at that well."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. It was a strange request coming from Leroux who was normally all business and no detail. I thought that the well would go unnoticed all except for the curious antics of me. Still, I had no objections for I wanted to see the symbol.

All the same, a great wave of relief waved over me to hear his meaty voice and find that he was not having some sort of spell. Still, the incident made me extra wary in the catacombs of the opera. Perhaps it was haunted after all…

We treaded back the way we came, lanterns in hand, to the 3rd cellar once more. At last, we came to our previous location. But as we made our way over to the well, I had an awful sense of foreboding.

We were walking…walking! Not trudging through mud or stepping over piles of dirt. All of the excavation and the grave itself had disappeared.

I was about to cry out to Leroux but the man was already on his knees looking at the well. He motioned for me to come forward. For the first time ever in my life, I did not follow orders. Something was not right about that well or Leroux's behavior!

Only moments ago, it was all I could think of. I fallen under some sort of spell and now it had taken hold of Leroux as well. Again, he motioned for me, turned, and I knew I had to obey.

"Come look at this, Armand," he said calling me by my first name. That was not like Leroux at all!

"My eyes are too weak to see this," he pointed right at the symbol. "Tell me, my boy, what is that?"

To say that I wasn't curious would be a lie, but I was still cautious.

As if I didn't want to wake my newborn son, I stepped forward to the well and the fat man. I crouched on all fours, just as he was, like a dog, and began to wipe the grime from the ancient well.

It wasn't clear at first and I found that I had to rub harder than I expected. Slowly, the awful mixture of soot and moss came off.

The symbol was relieved to me like bride under a veil. I traced its sharp yet artistic etching.

I spoke its name with curiosity.

"A rabbit."

"A what?" Leroux responded shocked.

"A rabbit!" I repeated, sounding half out of my mind.

"A rabbit," Leroux said also touching it now.

"What does it-"

Then I saw something that I don't think that I'll soon forget.

It seemed to be standing right on the well, this dark figure. The shadow loomed over Leroux and me. We couldn't speak let alone scream. The thing leapt from the well, right over our heads, and began to head down into the cellars like a bolt of lightening. Still we could distinctively hear it.

"Yes," it rasped in a baritone voice, "a rabbit. It means I've returned…"

We sat there, Leroux and I, for God knows how long.

Then, the banging began.

We were still quite frozen in fear over our experience with the shadow man that we couldn't hear the screaming of protest and horror from below. A woman's voice at first:

_"Erik, NO! You can't do this! Wait! No!"_

And then our own men:

_"What's that noise?"_

_"It's coming from above!"_

_"Take cover!"_

_"My God!"_

A soft rumbling could be heard in the distance. It was Leroux that broke the silence for us.

"Down," he said in a whisper.

I stared back at him with a puzzled look on my beat red face.

"Down," he repeated. "Down, down, DOWN. GET DOWN!"

He grabbed my arm and pulled me to the staircase of the 4th cellar but a great white flash and fire propelled us forward, consuming us and most of the Opera.

In only seconds, my body shattered against the stone walls of the dungeons and I knew no more.

The mysterious note never left my hand.


	2. In the Grave

Resurrection of Erik

Chapter 2

Erik

In the Grave

_A few hours earlier_

"**I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die"**

**-****John 11:26**

As of this moment, I am dead. Dead and buried.

The dirt and filth of my domain envelope me like a cold, friendly embrace. Sometimes I hear it whisper comforts to me as panic consumes me. It assures me that my sacrifice, my resurrection, will be just in the end. All of my motives are never in vain.

Even though I had spent most of my life sleeping in a coffin, the thought of being packed into this crudely made grave struck terror into my black heart. In this hole, I am defenseless, for I am dead.

I have always been dead, but I've never felt the icy kiss of death upon my hated face until two mere weeks ago. That kiss was from Christine.

Once her lips touched mine, I knew what I must do. I convinced myself that the only way to truly be free was to die. The arrangements were made and here I am, dead.

Living death is like taking a handsome shot of morphine to purple and blue veins. You are awake but you see things through a sparkling veil, like you're in a dream. At one time in my life, I wished that I could always feel this way, but I was young and foolish then. I love being dead, but I, Erik, will not stay dead for long.

Truly, it is a miracle that my nerves haven't clouded my better judgment. Ever since I was small…was I ever so small in my life? When I was a child, close spaces frightened me. Ironic isn't it that all these years I've slept within a sealed coffin? Come to think of it, it may have been a way to murder fear from me.

It took much to frighten me then when I was a child. I suppose that it was my mother that struck this claustrophobia into me. She would often threaten to lock my away in the pantry, our small, small pantry, if I had been naughty. How often had I been naughty! I suppose that eventually the fear of being locked in a small space with no air or light finally took its toll on me.

The years have no doubt changed me. I'm still such a hateful man…monster! Not man any longer, but monster! For many years, I've accepted the fact that in appearance, appearance alone, that I was monstrous. However, only until presently, have I accepted that not only my face, but my actions were equally as hideous. Yet…I regret nothing!

How can I? How can you have regrets when you're buried 6 feet under? But how is it that a _monster_ in a grave has no regrets, you ask? I'm not sure, I'm not sure about anything now. These past weeks have been eventful ones indeed…I'm glad they happened all the same. It'll pay off in all due time. It has to!

I wonder, as I lie here in my grave, where Christine is now. Undoubtedly at her lover's estate. I hope she wasn't cold on the walk over there. She always got cold so easily but refuses to ever dress accordingly. Perhaps she froze to death…no, Erik don't think of death! How will you survive if you think of death?

Think…of course he ordered a carriage for her. I suppose he doesn't like to see her cold as well. Those are one of the few things the Vicomte and I share in common, we like to keep the things we love warm and safe. But you can't do that in a cold prison can you?

Christine…is it possible that I saw you only hours ago? Oh, you were quite tried then I'm sure. Digging graves never was meant to be woman's work. You were so delicate and innocent like a little flower.

Your only purpose was to be looked at and fussed over and made sure that you would also blossom. Seen and not heard, right Christine? I certainly changed that, didn't I?

I gave you the voice of a goddess and you gave me nothing. It's funny, at the time you've also given me everything. You gave me hope. You gave me meaning. You gave me heartache. However, you also gave me this rose lying on my chest. A proper burial prop most fitting for my funeral. I would have thanked you but I couldn't for I was dead.

I saw you kiss the rose and drop it right on my torso. To me, it looked like it shattered in a million pieces. Then you threw down the mask and you left your poor unhappy Erik. For once in my life, I wished that you had cried but your beautiful blues eyes stayed dry.

Do you really hate me so, Christine that you wouldn't cry at my funeral?

An oyster I am in this grave. I can shift and twist freely in the shallowness of the soil that Christine so hastily piled, but I am still trapped in my shell.

Surprisingly, my crypt is warm like the lining of my Persian robe. How I wish that I brought it along with me! Unfortunately, it's most likely in the hands of a stagehand or stingy merchant. I barely escaped when the heathens ransacked my home, my lovely home. It's a shame that I can never return. To start anew will be tedious indeed but always worth the effort in the end. After all, the entire Opera House will have to be reborn as well. This time, I'll make my abode twice as grand! A castle, a palace on its own…Oh, Erik you mustn't get ahead of yourself. Patience, patience is your friend. It has served you well, your best friend indeed. No one's living in castles yet.

As of now, this lovely grave is your home.

I feel my lungs wither and dry like the rose laid on my chest. My air supply is running short, so short. It was miraculous that I had lasted what, 15, 20 minutes I had spent in my grave. Opera singing had saved my life once again. All the same, the air was gone all around me and no amount of opera or any type of music could change that.

The time would come soon for my release, my resurrection. All I needed to do was let go and leave it to my friend, patience. That is, patience and the Dargora.

Dargora never forgets me, you see. Before any of this happened, he was always hanging over me like a pelt hangs over the hunter's shoulder. Still, it worries me that he would delay this long.

Perhaps he is recovering from the "bath" I gave him and the Vicomte earlier on. I chuckle only to gag and gasp for the air that is no longer there. I doubt, though, that playing a drowned rat for a couple of hours would faze him enough not to rescue poor Erik.

After all, he still owes me quite a precious favor. Dargora wouldn't let his honor let his promise down. Stupid, proud Nadir Khan! To think, if it and it hadn't been for your equally as stupid offspring, you never would have met me. You would have liked that, you'd you?

If only that bastard son of yours hadn't been playing by the river, like you told him nearly a thousand times. "Stay away from the water Armand!" you cried only for him to fall in.

Armand could not swim. You could not swim. No one else could swim. Only Erik could swim. Would you rather have had your son drown than have met me? Now that you look at your son with such disappointing eyes, I don't doubt your current answer. Of course, that was in Persia and this is France.

I used to muse to myself over a ritual cup of green tea-with a hint of lemon-the stories of my past travels when I was young or at least younger. I traveled to Persia, Russia, Spain, Tibet, and many other wonderlands. I most likely owe quite a few humans favors, but only one continues to peruse me.

Come to think of it, I don't remember if I shared these tales with Christine. I never was truly open with her. What reason was there to be? She was an angel but she was still human so she couldn't possibly understand. Of course, my tales were quite frightening and she would be scared so easily!

Strangely enough, she told me everything, even after I revealed myself to her. True, it wasn't the same child-like wonder that came with her conversation, but the truth of Erik revealed another side to her. She was no longer a wide-eyed child but a woman…no, she spoke to Erik, not the Voice or Angel. I miss those days most of all I think.

These past hours seem like days. I feel freezing even though it is the middle of June. I try to entertain myself with thoughts, memories, stories, and anything to pass the frozen time. Will it ever thaw? When will it truly be summer for _me_? This I do not know. I wait and wait and wait for the time.

Patience is a friend, but a cruel one as well. Thankfully, I do not believe Dargora to be as cruel.

I close my eyes for what seems to be for the final time only to be tickled awake be the falling of…what? No…it can't be, can it? It is! Dirt! The dirt of my grave! At last, my salvation!

Thinner and thinner, it weighs on my body. It takes some time to completely unearth but my friend patience was buried with me. So I waited as beams of light at last peak through to form stairs on the filth above.

I sputter and cough as I sit up letting the mulch fall from my entire body. I shake away the layer of grime on my accursed face. I sputter and spit the mouth from my mouth.

"Dargora," I say in a hoarse, baritone voice, "Dargora what took-"

But to my immediate dissatisfaction, instead of seeing Dargora's stern bearded face and emerald eyes that I've grown so used to, I was staring down the barrel of a pistol.


	3. Gunpoint

Resurrection of Erik

Chapter 3

Erik

Gunpoint

My yellow eyes grew with shock as the smell of fresh gunpowder and flint flooded into the nose that I did not have. My slender fingers twitched rhythmically, the metronome of my fear.

This was not apart the plan and I was unprepared. I had to keep on my toes if I wanted to stay out of the grave.

"Put the gun down, _de Chagny._" I spat the last word practically in his face. "Little boys shouldn't play with those kinds of toys. Someone could get _hurt_."

The young noble held the weapon in his right hand but in his left was the very shovel used to dig my grave. His hands were grimy and covered in filth and the shovel was not. His intentions with the tool seemed very gruesome indeed.

"You'd do better to keep quiet, Monsieur _Phantom_!" Raoul spat back with equal if not more venom. His upper lip glistened with sweat and salvia.

The Vicomte's body shook with intensity that I found rather pleasing. I could only imagine that the journey to my kingdom was not a pleasant one. How did he get down here in the first place?

"I am the one with the gun and you are defenseless," he continued with feign confidence. I watched the gun with my fearsome yellow eyes as he raised it to my forehead. If the gesture was supposed to intimidate me, it did not.

I chuckled gruffly at this. "I would have thought that by now you would know not to underestimate my improvisation. This is after all," I spread my arms like an eagle, "my home."

"How disgusting," he said making a face to match his words. "Only an animal would live in a place like this!

"Well we can't all live in chateaux by the beach."

"Interesting that I would find you like this," he inquired with a witty tone I had never heard from him before.

"In a grave?" I rasped, playing along. My voice was still quite unkempt from being buried in the Earth.

"No, you pompous bastard, _alive_." With that remark, I could tell that he really did not enjoy my sense of humor. Pity. Then again, why would he?

"You see, just the other day I was reading the morning paper when a particular title caught my eye. Do you know what it said?"

I obviously knew what he was talking about, but I decided to play coy. "Hair pieces were on sale?"

He ignored my banter and continued to pace like a cat eyeing a fat bird. "'Erik is Dead' were the words. You can imagine my personal joy in seeing those words."

"I'm sure you were quite tickled."

"Since Christine, my beautiful wife Christine," he said causing me to flinch at her name, "was out shopping this morning, so I decided to see for myself. Yet, here you are… breathing."

He pointed hi gun for my chest, a way to imitate me I suppose. "But not for long."

"Shopping you say?"

This comment caught him off guard. "Excuse me?"

"I don't think that she went shopping _this _morning." I picked up the rose and began to wiggle it between my fingers. I had hoped that he would get the message. "Perhaps you shouldn't think of your, what was it? Your "beautiful wife Christine"? Yes, I do believe so. Maybe you shouldn't speak so highly of _her_ after all." I chuckled darkly. "After all, what kind of a wife…oh I don't know…sneaks out of the house of her "husband" to visit an old friend."

The Vicomte squared his shoulders with pride. "I won't take that to heart, Phantom." I knew that that was not true. I saw him twitch and squirm at my words.

He was irked, as per usual and it amused me so.

We stared each other down some more. He, breathing hardly with passionate gasps and I, with cold indifference.

"Before I kill you…"

"_If _you kill me…"

De Chagny, now quaking with anger ignored me once again.

"I want to know the whereabouts of my brother…you know very well that my brother has been missing two weeks; exactly two weeks from _that_ fateful day. He was last seen snooping around the dungeons."

"Then he wasn't where he was supposed to be, Vicomte!" I was mocking him now, dangling the yarn before a cat and yanking it away without a moment's thought.

In truth, I had forgotten about the dearly deceased Comte, until know. You see, I had more important things on my mind. My intellect wasn't normally focused on babysitting nobles.

He sighed, calmer this time, and said, "I don't wish to reason with the likes of you, but just release my brother and we can say adieu." He pointed to gun at my chest once more, thinking himself to be the victor.

How wrong he was!

I stared up at him with my orb-like eyes. "No," I said slowly, "you don't believe that."

"Enough of your treachery, monster! Where is my brother?" he erupted. His voice shook the walls. The silence was deafening afterwards.

"Brother?" I said with mock amnesia. "I don't recall attempting to murder _two _miscreants."

"Don't toy with me; you spoke of him just now! You're trying my good patience…"

"Or what? You'll kill me as you've tried so many times before? Think de Chagny! Perros, your estate, they all end the same; I win and you lose." I rose up from my sitting position in my grave. My black cape swirled about me like the wings of the Angel of Death

The Vicomte shook his head slowly. "Last I remember Christine is in my keep and not yours. She wears my ring and yours lies at the bottom of a crypt," he said harshly indicating with his gun to my grave. "You haven't won this time nor will you ever again."

Oh, how wrong he was!

I stared at him coolly for a while as his breathing grew harder and harder. "I don't think that you traveled all this way to find your brother."

"Oh?" he questioned flicking up one eyebrow. "I don't come here because I fancy the atmosphere!"

The fish had taken the bait and it was my turn to reel him in. "You never loved your brother."

The Vicomte looked as if he had taken a glass of cold water to the face. "You're in no place…"

"I believe I am!" I interrupted passionately. "A grave is no better place to discuss DEATH."

With that very word, I saw the boy flinch in fear.

"Tell me, besides myself," I bowed at the mention of me, "who was the sole person standing the way of your relationship with Christine, hmm?"

Her name from my lips torn at my heartstrings but I didn't dare show it.

"If it had not been I who killed him…"

"You admit it!" he cried taking aim.

"Then would it have been _you_? Would it have been you to kill him? To save your lover? Don't lie to yourself, Vicomte!" I screamed over top of him.

"No, no, no," he sobbed as if he didn't understand his own words. "_You_ killed him I won't listen."

"Oh, then what will you tell the police? The Opera Ghost killed the acclaimed Comte? Everyone already knows of your scandal and Comte's disagreement…_you're_ the one suspect."

The tears pouring from his eyes gave me more satisfaction than all the precious morphine in the world. Pain had become my drug.

"Yes you foolish boy, I killed him. I killed him in cold blood and it won't be that last time."

"Yes-yes it will," he stammered. "You're finally going to die and Christine's nightmares will die with you!"

"You don't think that…"

"I do! STOP PLAYING WITH MY MIND!"

"Oh, but it's such a fun play thing! So easy to mold and mutilate! Minds are the grandest of toys! Guns, however, are not...."

Before I even knew it, I was beside the shivering Vicomte. I plucked the gun from his hands as if it was a wildflower.

"I'll kill you! I'll _KILL_ you!" he screamed as I began to walk away.

"Yes, yes, you'll kill me. Maybe one day you will," I leapt back into the 6-foot grave in one cat-like motion, "but that day is not today."

The pistol was lying innocently by the Vicomte, a mere three feet from me. I deftly picked it up and twirled it one my index finger.

Without saying a word, I stared at him and back at the gun. He, my worst enemy, was right there, squirming and sobbing by my hand and I had his gun. What was I to do? I wanted to kill him. I _had_ to kill him. It's a dog eat dog world and I, Erik, was a cat and not ready to be eaten.

I raised the pistol with my right hand and aimed at his trembling head. My eyes flared with anger and hate for this boy. My finger shook on the trigger. I savagely took a hand full of the boy's golden locks and forced him to face me.

"Remember this, de Chagny, even if I die," I moaned looming over his panting body, "I am not a god. One day, I will die. When I do, I can assure you that you, Christine, and the entire world will never forget me! I will always be _there_!"

I fired a shot in the air surprising both myself and the boy. De Chagny screeched like a vulture.

Finally, I took aim for his head but at the last moment, I felt another's hand grasp mine.

My heart throbbed in my throat. I was so close! I turned slowly to see the one person who could stop me from killing anything. To my disappointment, I took my attention off the writhing Viscount.

"Let go, Christine." Like an ocean after a storm, my voice began to calm.

Her grip tightened on my wrist but I dare not lower the gun. The hold was like iron, so cold and strong for such a little woman.

"Please…stop." Her beautiful blue eyes melted into mine. How I wished that I never saw them again!

What was she doing down here? I saw her leave with my own two eyes. I must have frightened her so with my resurrection and now she must be petrified. I can't kill the boy now.

I attempted to shrug her off but she screamed. I hated to hear her scream.

"Don't kill him!"

Why must she persist to put herself in danger for the life of this miserable boy? What if I was the one being held at gunpoint? Bah, I'm sure that she'd be edging Raoul on to pull the trigger.

"I assure you, Mademoiselle," I said in a very formal tone like I just met her, "the Vicomte and I were just having a little fun."

I dropped his body to ground as if he was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. She immediately rushed to his side. How much of this torment could my heart take? I watched her comb through his long blonde hair and whisper comforting words in his ear.

It was when she kissed him, on his trembling lips, that I turned away.

"Why me…" I looked at the gun, gleaming like the fires of hell. My eyes then traveled to Christine and Raoul. Evil thoughts clouded my mind once more.

No one would know if they were gone. It would be just like the Comte. Perhaps that people would think that they all ran away together. It would only take the pull of the trigger. I raised the gun up to the two heads, huddled down with their obliviousness. I licked the inside of my mouth and bit my cheek.

I am the Angel of Death. Shall I be merciful? I was once to them. They had their chance! But they came back…why did they come back and not just leave me in peace? I let them go once before and now I will not be as charitable. They spit my sacrifice right back in my face. I will not be made a fool of…I can see them laughing. I will have my salvation!

I raised the gun once more but I was suddenly tackled to the ground by a force unknown to me.

For a few seconds, I wrestled and clawed at the intruder but the being was victorious because of his _ungentlemanly_ fighting.

The thing kicked the gun from by hand stepped back into a ray of light beaming from the real world. Dargora.

Disgust and anger fill with a power like a brewing thunderstorm. How could I even think to kill the one thing in this entire universe that has showed my kindness? It was cruel kindness in the end but I would have died for her, not vice versa! What kind of thing have I become?

I tried to shake these human emotions from my being with no luck. Instead, I focused my anger on Nadir. "Having fun, Dargora?" I wheezed. I spoke to him, but my eyes never left Christine's pleading eyes and Raoul cold stare of hatred.

"You're idea of fun isn't the same as everyone else's, Erik" he said with indifference.

"So," I said taking my attention from the young lovers below me, "it was you who led him down here."

"No, I merely followed Miss Daae down here to make sure she was safe," my old friend said as he stepped forward. "I'm glad I did."

The Persian walked over to the now unconscious de Chagny and handed a package to Christine. Smelling salts. The poor boy couldn't take the drama, I suppose.

He turned back to me, his green eyes glowing almost as vibrantly as my golden ones.

"Come now, Erik. Let the boy go free. Haven't you caused them enough grief?" Dargora's tone was hushed like he was telling me a secret but loud enough for the others to hear.

"_I _caused _him _grief? Oh no, my dear Dargora, you do have it backwards! This little worm attacked _me_. Not to mention the…ahem…_damage_ you did to me just now-"

"Let him go," he repeated stubbornly. He obviously wasn't buying my innocence. Of course, there wouldn't be much reason to believe anything I say.

I stared down at my foe. He looked as if he was in a deep sleep preparing to be awakening again by a true love. To think that this human held me at gunpoint but a minute ago. Now I had the gun and he was the one close to death. Ironic isn't it?

I felt my upper lip start to twitch for an unknown reason. My palms were moist with sweat and caked with dry mud at the same time. I was so tried. I hadn't sleep for days, not in a coffin of any kind. My eyes were drooped and darker than usual. I was quite prepared for a good rest.

"You have no idea what you've even done, have you, Erik?" said, his gaze at last leaving de Chagny.

"I've killed myself, nothing more nothing less," I said with cool indifference. "I am now dead to the world."

"Why do you keep up this charade, Erik? Only three people knew you even existed and they are present. This isn't one of your games anymore. The entire purpose of this was to start again. How can you when the reason for death is right here, staring you in the face?"

He pointed to Christine dramatically. She whimpered at the sudden gesture.

_How dare he!_ An unearthly shriek erupted from my mouth. This was too much! In a flash, I spun around with fire in my eyes. With an unknown rage, I pressed the Persian into the wall so barbarically that I didn't even recognize my actions. I thought I was going to kill him. I thought I was going to kill my friend.

"When," I began in syllables, "will you understand that this is NOT a game?" I felt my voice crack with anger. Even I did not understand my anger. I always played games, it was what I did best, but this situation was serious.

Dargora writhed and choked under my powerful, icy grip. "Fine…kill me! That will solve everything won't it? You said you wouldn't kill anymore! Erik! You _promised_!"

With a grunt, I let go of the gasping Persian. It _was _my doing! Another murder would only add to my ever-growing supply of death. I would never make Nadir apart of it. As he fumbled to his feet, I couldn't help but regret my actions.

"I'm sorry, Nadir. It won't happen again." I turned my back on him and at last, there was silence. It was only then that I heard soft crying. Christine. How many people must I harm in one day!

"Well then, what are we going to do about them?" he said straightening his collar. "We have to get them above ground."

"They're coming with us…"

"Erik-"

"I _SAID_ they're coming with us."

Everyone in the room shuttered at the anger in my voice, even I did so.

I looked back at all my victims. I breathed heavily. I sank down on the well adjacent to my grave and fingered the etching of a rabbit that stood proudly on the front...

"We'll gather some things from my home and we leave by dawn," I ordered my friend who was over by de Chagny again. "Inform Antoinette of the change in plans."

I ignored Dargora's protests of how late the hour was. I didn't have time for his nagging.

I laid my eyes on Christine once more and found she hadn't taken her eyes from me the entire time. She was mouthing something to me, but I didn't bother to read her lips, the words from the lips of death.

"What will we do until, then?"

I strode closer to the three, my three new companions.

"First, we'll wait for the boy to awake. Then…we'll have some tea."


	4. The Gaudy Jewel

Resurrection of Erik

Chapter Four

Comtesse Christine Daae De Chagny

The Gaudy Jewel

We were all so silent as we made our way across the black lake to Erik's abode. The only sound to be heard was the velvety noise of moving water. Erik's soft paddling always seemed to be kept in perfect time with the terrible water below us. I guess once a musician, always a musician. Still, the noise was soothing and calmed my body, like most of his music did. I felt swayed by the dark lullaby of the water until the chill of the catacombs took hold of me and forced me back into reality once more.

The air was damp and cold around us, which only meant one thing: we were getting close to the house on the lake. I huddled closer to Raoul, who was barely conscious, for warmth or maybe out of fear. Poor Raoul didn't deserve to go through all this for me. Still, he cared so much for me. Acts of love can often go so wrong, as we have learned these past few months, and it was comforting to know that Raoul was the opposite of Erik.

I turned only to find Erik glowering at us behind his mask black as the water. He let out a defeated sigh before taking his attention off us and back on his rowing. By that time, I had moved away from Raoul.

It had been a good half hour since our unexpected encounter with Erik. We still hadn't a clue of what Erik had in store for us. Knowing Erik, I did not fear for myself, but more of what he'll do to Raoul or anyone for that matter. I'm so fearful of what he's capable of doing. This plan he speaks of doesn't put me at ease either. I'm frightened for my life but I can't show it and give Erik the satisfaction of seeing me afraid. He always had some sick thrill from it. Maybe that's all this "plan" is, an illusion designed to scare us. But, as I said, we were getting nearer to the house anyway and I tried to shake these ideas from my head.

Slowly we emerged from the curtain of mist that suddenly lifted. To my horror, the house of nightmares, Erik's abode, was revealed to us.

I could never explain the feeling I had when I first saw the house on the lake again. Somehow, in these last two weeks, I managed to wipe the image from my mind, like wiping down a chalkboard, and yet there it stood once again, looming in the distance. Although everything was blanketed with a thick fog, from here I could see the candles glowing in the distant windows. I looked back to Erik, whose eyes matched the burning candles, and then to the Persian.

It's funny, I realized that although this man had probably saved Raoul and me numerous times, I've never learned his name. The mysterious man was staring off in the distance and not paying attention to any of us when I gave him a slight tap.

He jumped, whirled around to face me, and then fixed his face to the appropriate mannerisms of a gentleman.

"Monsieur? Forgive me, but what is your name?" I questioned in a whisper, though I could see everyone's attention immediately turn towards me, even Erik's. I suddenly felt an extreme discomfort. A discomfort only expressed like the sensation of when you walk into an incorrect room and all eyes are suddenly upon you. Though I was a former diva of the stage, I found that I had stage fright.

"T-that is," I stammered, "if you please." My eyes rapidly scanned his eyes for anger or any kind of discomfort. I found none.

At first, the dark man gave me a puzzled look and reply in a formal tone, "Why in the world I would want to know that, Madame?" I continued to stare at him with pleading eyes begging him to continue. It wasn't important that I know, but I had a sinking feeling that this experience wouldn't be the last I see of The Persian. He cleared his throat and straightened his filthy and very out of place collar.

"You, Madame," he continued, "may call me Dagora, if you wish. Seeing that we're going to all….be spending quite some time together, I suppose that it will be proper to have names to call one another." I smiled and gave him a slight nod. Why, he was more formal than Erik was! Still, I didn't even dare pester him for his last name. Perhaps that _was _his last name. From my endeavors in the last year or so, I could pick out a man who had skeletons in his closet. This foreign man, this Dagora, had a graveyard. In some ways, he reminded me of Erik. I suppose that's why they're associated.

The small boat hit shore at long last. Erik was the first to leap out like a cat followed by Dagora who supported Raoul, despite my protests to assist him. That left just Erik and me, staring at each other. For a moment, he looked the way he did far past two weeks ago.

He had a certain child-like approach as he extended his hand to assist me. We gazed at each other some more before I gathered my skirts and attempted to get out on my own. Thanks to my accursed clumsiness, instead of scorning him the way I had hoped, I ended up tripping over my long gown and falling flat on my face.

Instead of hearing a gasp or some sort of noise of distress, I hear a laugh…Erik's laugh. Erik was laughing at me! I wasn't sure what part of that statement I should be more confused over, but sure enough I lifted my face to see his mask moving up and down from his loud laughter. His laugh was strange, but perhaps it was I'd never heard it before. It was the same color of his voice, a deep and dark timbre, but had a fast sort of chuckle to it that was pleasing to listen to. I would have laughed along with him if I hadn't been the one who was on the ground.

I scowled at him and helped myself up. I hastily brushed the soot from my gown. It's a good thing I wasn't a material person or I would have been upset with the condition of the dress. It was terribly expensive.

I stormed past Erik not even giving him a second glance. Why should I be civil to him? Not only is this the third time that I've been virtually kidnapped by him, but this time he's also kidnapping my husband. And who are these others that he keeps mentioning? Are they coming with us? Where are we even going? At this point, I should loathe every bone in his monstrous body but I've found that through my endeavors with my so-called Angel, I'm incapable of hatred. Hopefully, either Erik or the mysterious Dagora will return him to his semi-normal senses. In the meantime, I can only pray that he won't harm Raoul.

I strutted myself to the steps of Erik's home. I could see out of the corner of my eye Raoul marvel at the spectacle of grandeur before us. I could not help but feel a little proud for Erik. It was a beautiful house with marble steps and an almost glassy exterior. The windows were hand painted and even the garden in the back was well manicured. It looked fit for an emperor, even after the mob attacks. The only blemish on the exterior beauty of it was the fact that the mahogany door had been savagely ripped from its hinges. I could not even imagine what it looked like inside now.

Erik waved for us to stop and put one skinny finger to his lips. Our small party stopped in its tracks and remained silent, like the sheep we were. Our shepherd creeped deftly to the mangled door and didn't even seem fazed by its condition. He lifted it as if it were a mere piece of driftwood, heaved it aside, and headed inside his domain. Sometimes I forget how strong Erik really is.

"I'll return once I've tidied up," he called from inside. We could already hear things breaking and moving around.

Suddenly he snapped his masked face out of the doorway and stared straight at me. "Not that I'm distrusting of the Dagora to keep you two here, but as a _friendl__y_ reminder, there is no way of here. Unless, you want to _swim _away." He gave an evil grin and returned to whatever he was doing.

I looked down at Raoul who was eyeing the black water. The look in his bruised eyes frightened me. To my horror he slowly began to inch toward the lake the would surely be the end of us all.

"Raoul, no!" I cried. I tried to grab his sleeve pull him back, he only shrugged me off. I fell to the ground, now level with my husband. We both staggered to our feet. Without a moments thought, he looped his arm around mine and made his way to the water again. I struggled against him, but I should have known that he would overpower me.

"Raoul, wait! I can't swim!" I cried, still fighting to get back to shore. We were knee deep in the murky water.

"But I can! I'm not going to leave you in the hands of a madman! Not again! Come on, I can support us both."

"You're insane! He'll only catch us!"

Raoul paid no heed to me as we ran deeper and deeper into the foul lake. My dress coiled around both of my legs, tripping me along the way until finally I lost my balance all together.

I plunged into the water with a glass-shattering scream. The water was cold and much deeper than I had ever excepted it to be. I opened my eyes to find only blackness. In a panic, I thrashed my arms and legs for help but found nothing to save me from the lake.

Suddenly I broke to the surface gasping for breath. I froze in horror at the hands wrapped around my waist, dragging me back to the shore. The hands dumped me onto the ground with a wet splashing noise.

I looked up at the owner of the hands and to my relief, it was Dagora. In his other hand was Raoul, fiercely fighting to break free from the man we barely knew. All I knew was that this man saved my life more than once.

I could hear Raoul grunting has he tried to release his hand from the Persian. "I should have known you would side with _him_ in the end!"

"Believe me, Monsieur le Vicomte, I have no intentions of "siding" with Erik but you must understand that the monster does not lie. Erik's home is the safest place in the entire opera house now. You'd do better to stay here…that is if you want to stay alive."

"I want to live," Raoul continued as I slowly got back on my feet, "but we _won't _if we remain here!"

Dagora's hand clamped hardly onto Raoul's shoulder has he released his iron grip. "Understand that Erik has a plan. Originally, it did not involve either of you," he directed an assuring glance towards me, " but due to the recent events, I'm afraid that you're very much apart of that plan." Raoul and I exchanged concerned glances. "Please, Madame and Monsieur, _believe _me when I say that if Erik had left you by the well, you both would have soon died like the others."

"What do you mean, "others"?" Raoul said putting his arms around me. I put my head against his chest like the way we used to. I could hear his insides rumble like coming thunder and his heart pound like a million hoof beats. He sounded very alive.

"What's to become of us?" I asked fearfully, staring deep into the Dagora's eyes.

"I-I'm not sure, Mademoiselle," he stammered, chocking on his words. He broke eye contact and stared at his mud-covered shoes. "I'm not sure."

~*~

The tea was served as he always served it, green with a wedge of lemon on the side. It suddenly frightened me that I knew so much about his habits and tendencies. I knew that when Erik served tea, which he rarely did, he always made sure it was served scorching hot. That way people would have a chance to talk. This made no sense considering the only people who called on Erik were Dagora, myself, and unlucky stage hands who did not live long enough for tea.

I looked around the room to find everything as it used to be. The blood red drapes hung in perfect elegance, the organ gleaming and polished, and Erik, staring back at me, just as he always had.

When our eyes met, he gave me the most peculiar glance. The flaming lights that he called his eyes possessed the same fixation and cleverness as they always had, but there was a sort of questioning sadness that brought me to break our stare.

What more could he want from me? He let us go! He let _me _go! How could he change his mind like this? Oh I hate you, I hate you! Do you take pleasure in your games? In your tortures?! I held my breath as I screamed inside my mind until I thought that I would surely faint.

I took a deep inhale after my internal tantrum, only thinking how angry I was. The anger clearly showed on my face and if not that my eyes. If I were a dragon, I would be spewing fire now.

He smiled then, his wicked, crooked smile, as if he had been reading my thoughts. I could feel my eyes widen. I would not be surprised if he could in fact read my mind. Many times in the past he had finished my sentence or even said what I was about to say exactly. They say only married couples complete each other's sentences. How far we were from that, Erik and I!

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to take my cup of tea and throw it hard at his accursed face. I wanted so much to. But, I never get what I want so he just kept staring at me until I had to look away again. Why did he enjoy tormenting me so?

He stood to his full height, never breaking his gaze on me, looking like a building next to us. "The weather is lovely today. Nice and sunny…you'd all do well to get some sunshine."

I couldn't believe the words coming from his mouth. Was he actually trying to engage us in small talk, at a time like this? Moreover, how would know what the weather was like in the first place. He'd been buried not an hour ago!

He let out an exasperated sigh and finally took his eyes off me. "I suppose you're wondering what's going to become of you."

I didn't look, but I could tell that all eyes in the house by the lake had grown twice their size. We all listened attentively, holding our breath. Perhaps now he would tell us this plan.

"You see," Erik continued, "I think of our…reintroduction as a second chance. A rebirth…" and paused and looked right at me, "A resurrection." The man who I once called Angel began to pace around us. This only made us grow more tense.

"As all of you know, the opera house was my home, my domain. And they always say that a captain…goes down with his ship." A wave of terror swept the room. He couldn't possibly mean what I think he does!

"This is why it is good that I found you two. If I hadn't, I suppose who would have among the ruins in…oh 15 minutes from now? It is about 3 in the morning, you know."

Shock had frozen my body but I somehow found the courage to stand up. We all knew what he meant. Not about what the time was, but what the plan was.

"You're going to blow up the opera house?" I shouted.

Erik seemed surprised by my sudden outburst, but remained as cool as a corpse. "If you want to put it so negatively then yes, I am."

I couldn't help but let out a gasp and sink back down into my chair. What about all the people above? The Persian mentioned something about him not killing again and why does he break his promises? Is this the dark fate that will surely be the end of us all? I felt like I was going to faint.

The way he looked at me was particularly unnerving. He had just admitted to planning to kill at the very least a hundred people and yet he looked at me with the most pitiful eyes.

Why did he still want me? After everything that's happened, all the wrong that's happened, how can he still be like this. Well, I have changed Erik, and I see that you haven't.

It looked like Erik was about to speak again but a sudden gonging noise startled us all, even Erik and the solemn Persian.

It wasn't until the mysterious noise rang two more times that I realized that it was coming from the strangest figurine on the mantel. It reminded me of the monkey musical box that Erik showed me before, but instead of hammering cymbals together, this monkey banged on two drums.

Erik turned and looked at Dagora. His eyes bulged as they frantically pointed to the door. It seemed that they were having an argument with their eyes.

Raoul was the first to speak. "Well what does that mean?" He pointed toward the monkey I was just examining.

"Nothing that concerns you…" Erik muttered darkly.

"It's an alarm that goes off when someone has wandered too close to Erik's home," Dagora piped in, much to Erik's displeasure.

"So, what now?" Raoul asked. "Do we just wait for them to leave or something?"

"No," Erik stated. "The siren will get them I'm sure…let's hope they can swim."

A cloud went over Raoul's face. Although I found the fate of the poor wanderer and the instrument that rang out his death just as disturbing as Raoul did, there was nothing to be done. Unfortunately, for us, no such phrase was in Raoul's dictionary.

But I knew, deep in my heart, that Raoul did not only want to save the unlucky person. He also wanted to get out.

"You can't just leave them to die, can you?"

"Watch me." Erik had seated himself in a chair close to me.

"You won't give warning or a second chance?"

"I don't think so. Now, will you shut up long enough for me to drink my tea?"

Nevertheless, Raoul stayed standing as I stayed silent. I feared that Erik's temper would get the better of him and that we all would be fed to the siren.

Erik let out a sigh and looked like he was going to stand once more but changed his mind.

"If it _pains_ you so, Vicomte, go ahead and warn our little visitor."

Without a second thought, Raoul leapt from his seat and left my side for the first time since we were married. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.

"Not so fast," Erik stopped him with the coldness in his voice. All eyes were on the monstrous man yet again, waiting for his word.

"Dagora," he said in a menacing tone, "you go with him."

Raoul's eyes widened with protest as the Dagora got up from his seat and headed for the doorway.

"Come along, Monsieur. Please, don't make this harder." The Dagora looked back at me with pleading eyes but I was in a shock like trance and didn't see anything.

Raoul shouted protests to me as the Persian dragged him off. What was I to do? I could do nothing. Not here. Not in Erik's domain.

Finally, I regained conciseness of my surroundings. Raoul was gone and so was the Persian. It wasn't until I looked into the eyes of my former teacher that I realized we were completely alone…together. There was no Raoul to protect me from Erik and no mysterious foreign man to protect Erik from me. Alone in the lair with the Phantom of the Opera yet again but this time my illusions had already been shattered. I knew exactly who and what he was. I promised myself that I would not fall under his spell, not this time or ever again. The games were truly over but I had one more demon to face and it was staring right back at me.

We did not speak for a while which was to be expected. Erik and I never did much talking, even when the situation was not this tense. We often just went our separate ways only to meet again for meals where small talk was exchanged but nothing else. The only real talking we did was at my voice lessons but it was often him yelling at me to do better and often ended badly. I doubt that Erik and I will ever have a decent chat…not that I would want to.

To my surprise, he was the first to speak to me.

"Quite the little hero, isn't he?" he inquired with wit in his voice and a flick of his wrist.

I flashed a quick smile but continued to stare at my hands folded in my lap. I believe it was the first time Erik had not spoken negatively about Raoul. Perhaps he had moved on from me after all.

"I can assure you…Christine," he said my name with noticeable difficulty, "that no harm will come to him." He paused and turned his face towards me. "Or you."

I gulped down the bulge in my throat. For some reason, his assurance wasn't comforting.

"Then what of the other people in the opera house? They will be harmed," I said with bitterness in my voice.

Erik sighed and rose from his chair. He waltzed over the mantel and rested his hands there. He bowed his head, appearing to be examining his feet.

"Oh, Christine," said almost laughing again. "This is far more bigger than any of us."

"I don't see how-"

"You wouldn't understand…"

He broke away from the mantel and strode into a remote corner of the room. The darkness enveloped him like a cloak. All I could make out was the white mask grinning back at me.

"Why did you come back?"

"Erik-"

"_Please_," he said pausing as if he was in great pain, "just tell me."

"I-I was worried about Raoul."

"Of course you were."

"It's the truth!" I said rising from my chair.

Erik laughed. "I wasn't doubting your word, Madame De Chagny. I was merely saying that it was very in character of you to worry about your husband."

"Why wouldn't I?"

He ignored me but continued with his own rant.

"But, my question is, how did you _know _that the Vicomte was down here?"

"I-I heard him coming down when I was coming back to the surface."

"How did you know it was him?"

"I-I, hid in the shadows."

Once again, Erik laughed me as if I were some kind of fool.

"Christine," he sighed, "not to insult you, but you have never been that quick of wit." He drew closer to me as I moved farther from him. "You didn't stay behind for your Vicomte."

"Erik-"

"It's rude to interrupt, my love."

His words frightened me and suddenly I wished to be back with Raoul.

"Now," he continued with a threatening tone, "is this what you came back for?"

Slowly, he reached into his dress coat pocket and removed the item that was to decide the fate of us all.

I was horror stricken as the small locket dangled in front of my face. The slender golden chain glistened evilly in the candlelight. For the most part, the locket was relatively plain, all except for the enormous diamond in the front of it. It had been far more elegant and over-bearing than any jewel that Raoul had ever purchased for me. How I wished that I had forgotten it.

"Erik," I said choosing my words carefully, "you once told me that this was mine to keep. I'd like it back now. A gentleman shouldn't take a lady's things, you know."

Paying no attention to me, as always, Erik merely tossed the wretched necklace in the air only to catch it deftly again in his palm.

"No, I don't think I will give it back, not yet at least. I need it, you see."

"Erik," I said slowly, trying to keep my consciousness, "when you first gave this to me, you said it was nothing more than a locket. Do you remember that?"

"Yes," Erik mused, "Nothing but gaudy jewelry for silly women. But you know better than that now."

I nodded not taking my eyes off the jewel. "It's not just a locket, I know. It's from the Little Bag of Life and Death, isn't it?"

Erik smiled as his answer. The worst I feared had come true.

"Erik," I said once more, pleading this time, "I _beg _you not to use it." I was down on my knees beseeching this monster.

"It doesn't matter now if I want to use it or not. It _must _be done, Christine."

"I…I don't understand why…"

"I don't expect you to." He snatched the diamond locket away from my sight, breaking my trance with its strange but evil beauty.

"It's funny to think that the property of a diamond is to protect," he said fingering the sparkling menace. "And it is also ironic that such a beauty is going to cause so much tragedy." He turned and cradled my chin in his cold-gloved hand.

"Wouldn't you agree, Christine?"

I never answered him. I walked slowly back over to my seat and collapsed into its soft cushions.

I didn't look at Erik but I could that he was staring at he locket. I would too if I was going to kill thousands of people with a diamond.


	5. Dancer Feet

It's been some time since I last updated so I would like to mention a few things to my few reviewers. I'm going back and fixing up some of the previous chapters before posting another new one. Hopefully, I can finish it soon so we can move on in this mystery. Also, I'm changing the rating to M just because it has a lot more gore/graphic images than I thought it would.

Enjoy as always!

* * *

Resurrection of Erik

Chapter Five

Margarite "Meg" Giry Ledoux

Dancer Feet

_Earlier that day_

"Meg Giry, pay attention!"

My mother's voice was like a slap across the face and quickly brought me back to the reality of the dull rehearsal being held. Ever since the _incident, _most practices didn't compare.

I looked up to see Maman's sour face staring back at me. She towered over me as if she was some type of cruel dictator seeking to destroy me if I did not bring the upmost perfection to the ballet troupe. Day-dreaming, as I had been, was absolutely not tolerated. The proud cane that was laced in her boney fingers did not help my imagination.

"You are a dancer, are you not?" she said approaching me.

"Yes, Mother-I mean Madame," I stammered. She hated when I called her "mother" during rehearsal

"Then why don't you stretch with the rest of us?"

I nodded and obediently trotted over to my giggling companions. I quickly stuck my tongue out at them. They laughed until the thunderous pound of Mother's cane silenced us all and we were back to rehearsal.

It wasn't until three hours later that Maman dismissed us for a rest. The girls immediately flock around me and began to tease me for being scolded.

"That's the third time this week, Meg!" one cried.

"How is it that you manage to dream rehearsals away? I can't even imagine being yelled at by _Madame_!" another one said dramatically as she put her hand to her throat at the thought of my mother's temper.

"Don't be such geese!" I cried standing up. "She did not _yell _at me. She merely scolded me for not paying attention!"

I loved each of my friends like a sister, but they irritated me so at the same time! They were always in everyone's business and making huge scenes about everything. My mother called their behavior "shooting a mouse with an elephant gun." So is the life of a ballet rat!

"You're right, Meg," Cecile Jammes, my favorite of them, piped. "Let's talk about something else, shall we?"

Everyone nodded in agreement while we thought of something else to gossip about. Of course, we all knew what the next discussion would be. It was still such a fresh memory on all of our minds that it just had to be spoken about at every rehearsal. As if it weren't talked about enough, even before the terrible things that happened.

"Let's talk about the Phantom!"

All giggled or shrieked in agreement, except for me who stayed silent. My mother was watching us.

"Who knows what he did to the Comte…he's been missing for two entire weeks!" one proclaimed. Everyone made a face of concern or disgust. We didn't know for sure what had happened to Philippe de Chagny let alone the Vicomte or my best friend, Christine Daae.

"He must have a great vendetta against the de Chagnys," another retorted. I shivered at this because they really did not know how true this statement was.

"Who would hate Raoul? He was always so handsome and kind."

"Perhaps it was because of Christine!" Rachelle, one of the older girls, mused

"Nonsense!" I snapped at her. "How could she have anything to do with this?"

I watched my mother out of the corner of my eye.

"Well, she disappeared the same night that the de Chagnys did, and right off the stage too! It was no secret that the two were lovers. Perhaps the Phantom was jealous of their good fortune?" Rachelle spat back. She was so pompous and snooty! I did not like that girl in the slightest.

"Rachelle, you have to have the most ridiculous imagination-"

"You're one to talk, Meg Giry! Why is it such a crime that I think that the Opera Ghost maybe loved-"

"That is enough!" a familiar voice rang out followed by a loud crack. We all turned skittishly to see my mother. No one made a sound, not even arrogant Rachelle.

"Back to your lines, girls. Now!" she spat like a cobra with venom in her words. "Except for _you_, Meg Giry."

Some girls turned to look back with pity-filled expressions but most of them scrambled away like pieces of falling glass from a shattered vase.

I approached my mother to meet my doom.

"You shouldn't be speaking of the Opera Ghost, Meg. You should know that most of all by now."

Maman was oblivious to how much we talked about the Phantom. If she knew, I would surely get more than a lecture.

"I know, Maman," I said in a whisper so the other nosey dancers could not hear. "But it's not as if he's around anymore…"

She grabbed me coarsely by the arm and led me into the hallway, away from the stares of the dancers.

"You can't be so sure of that, Meg."

"What do you mean? I saw it for myself, Maman. There was nothing left in his lair. Nothing!"

"Exactly! _Nothing!_ Think child, think! He has a plan even bigger than anything before." She rested an old hand on my shoulder. "And we're apart of it, too."

I shrugged her hand from me. Her words frightened me so! "I don't understand, Maman…what plan do you mean?"

"All in good time, child. You'll learn everything you need to know that when the sun rises, we need to get out of the opera house or we'll end up like everyone else."

My eyes widened to the size of saucers. What was my mother saying?

"There's not time to explain now. Just promise me that you won't linger here long and to _not_ go near the cellars especially. Promise me!"

"I-I promise, Maman," I stammered as if I were a little girl again.

My mother gave a nod of approval. "Good," she stated simply as she led me back to the rehearsal room.

"Now," she said loud enough for everyone to hear this time, "I trust that we won't have to speak of this again?"

I gave a slight nod and rejoined my friends.

"Back to your positions girls! I want to see those ronds de jambes perfect!"

I got into position without a word of protest even though my head was swimming. I had a million questions if not more! But I had a feeling that I could only get them answered on my own and the only place to do that was the one place that my mother forbade me to go near.

I would have to go to the Phantom of the Opera's lair.

~*~

It was well into the night when I ventured down into the cellars below the opera house, against my mother's and my own wishes. Yet again, my girlish curiosity got the better of me. I planned to be obedient and abide Maman's strict instructions, but I could not bring myself to be in the dark about things, not this time. Ironic, the only way to be free of the dark was to go further into it.

I knew that I had to go down below, where so many wandered down to and never returned, to get the answers I wanted, despite my fears. True, I had been to the cellars before, very recently actually with the mob that destroyed the Phantom's home, but I never dared go down there by myself. Until now that is.

Everyone else was sleeping, even the drunken stagehands, so there was no way for me to be caught.

Before I got out of my bed, I was sure to slip on my favorite pair of slippers. My mother had purchased them for my sixteenth birthday. She claims that they were imported from India.

I didn't really care where they came from, so long as they were from somewhere foreign for bragging rights. I carefully slid on the purple and green embroidered beauties. They were as comfy and warm as could be. I thought that they were perfect for the cold conditions of the basements.

I slipped out of the dormitories in nothing more than my robe, making sure to tiptoe through the halls in my slipper feet. This is where being a dancer was useful. I could creep and crawl without being discovered due to the grace and silence of my tiny feet.

I crept by the manager's office and down the way to the singers' area. No one noticed me steal into Christine's old dressing room.

Luckily for me, it was unlocked. I had brought a hairpin in case I need to pick the lock myself. I read it in a mystery novel once. It was how all the heroines got themselves out of vile situations. How vile this one was!

It was dark in my friend's former suite. I was sure not to trip over my long nightgown but I stumbled anyway. I fell to my knees with a thump, feeling them sting and burn. Despite the pain from my fall, I had to keep looking for what I made the intrusion for in the first place.

I was able to grope around in the darkness until I found the detailed border of what I was searching for, the grand, full-length mirror. I felt the intricate design for a moment but then prepared for my journey into the total blackness of the cellars.

Placing my two small hands on one side of the massive looking glass, I was able to get a good hold on it. The mirror was heavy as lead but after a few tugs, I was able to pry it open. It slid ajar like a portal to hell. I felt a cool draft all over my body.

There was no turning back now. I took a deep breathe and stepped over the threshold.

The sewers were just the way I remembered them. The rats were the same. The air was the same. Even the cobwebs were the same. I knew these ugly caverns well, far too well for my own good. Yet, they all seemed so different, so _changed _in my eyes. Was it because he wasn't here? If what Maman said was true, maybe that was not the case either.

Perhaps I was just nervous. No one should be down here and yet I was, putting my life in danger, and for what? To feed my ever-hungry curiosity? That place frightened me so, but I _had _to know what's going on down here. I just had to.

I knew I shouldn't have gone down there, but I had heard so many stories that I couldn't resist. The ballet rats say that the police are down there investigating another murder. Some of the girls think it's the Opera Ghost again. As for me, I don't know what to think really. I'm not sure whether I should believe my fellow dancers' theories or not.

I feel that I'm too old for ghost stories, being eighteen summers now, but I'm afraid that I still have that childish spark. If I didn't, I would never even dream of entering the Phantom's kingdom of darkness.

As I made my way down, Maman's words ran through my head. She told me that we were going somewhere soon and to stay away from the opera as much as possible. She ordered me to come back home immediately after rehearsal but I insisted on staying one more night. She obliged after much begin saying that she would fetch me in the very early morning, but we had to make haste after that.

I'm afraid that I've never really listened to Maman. I know that she'll worry when I don't return, but I doubt that I'll take long. I just want answers, after all. It's her fault in the first place for being so mysterious.

It wasn't like her at all to be so cryptic, at least with me. I mean, she told me about the Phantom's existence and how she worked for him when I was very young. She even told me about his relationship with Christine. Before this, I thought that we had shared everything about each other.

I tried to ask her what was going on after everyone had gone to sleep, but she only said that the Phantom of the Opera was dead but not dead at the same time and that we were going with him. I didn't understand and, like always, I had so many questions. Maman was never one to talk crazy, and yet there she was, rambling as if she belonged in a straightjacket.

How can someone be dead but not dead? Where were we going? How can we even trust the Phantom after all he's done? Why should I have to go with this unknown being and not even know what in the world is going on in the first place?

All my life, my mother spoke of the Opera Ghost as if he was a business partner or even sometimes a member of the family. I had never even seen the man or _thing_ but I knew that my mother firmly believed in his abilities and power over the opera house. I'm worried that she's taking it too much to heart.

Maybe that's why I did not heed Mother's warnings. She wasn't telling me everything and if what she said was true, the Phantom had to be down there. Maman said that he had a plan. If that was so, I wanted to know all of it, not just what my mother wanted me to know. For once, I wanted to know the truth. I didn't want to be told ghost stories anymore. It was time for me to grow up.

As I descended deeper and deeper into the catacombs, though the opera house had been my home practically all my life, I felt alien and unwanted whilst down in the flooded basements.

I was able to sneak past the gentlemen working on the murder case rather unnoticed. They were all tried as dogs and had been working all night (or so I had been told) and wouldn't notice a petite girl prance by. To them, I was probably some kind of hallucination.

I skipped down the slippery stairs to the 3rd cellar. Then the 4th and finally I came to the gate that led down to the 5th. Fear tingled in every part of my body as I looked at that rusted and crumbling gate to the unknown. It had practically been ripped to pieces from the mob.

I found it so hard to believe that I had actually been there to witness it.

I daintily stepped over the metal wreckage and continued my journey through the darkness.

An overpowering feel of foreboding swept across me as I entered the 5th cellar. My eyes beheld the black lake that I knew for a fact led to the Phantom's domain.

Swimming there was out of the question. Not only did I not know how, but the lake was deep and murky, a difficult swim even for seasoned sailors. There was neither boat nor a path to lead me to my destination.

My plump cheeks turned red with frustration. I sat down on the dirty stone floor in a huff, as if I were pouting. How in the world was I supposed to get over there?

Suddenly, a slow ticking noise made its way to my ears.

It started slow, in more of a hum, but suddenly grew to a fortissimo sounding more like swarm of bees. I looked madly around for the source of the blaring sound but found none. I stood up and ran to the other side of the bank.

The ticking suddenly ceased and I breathed heavily in the former rhythm of the noise. I put my hand over my heart in relief. I thought it was just my imagination.

For some reason, I looked down at my feet to find that one of them was in the center of what appeared to be some sort of metal wire. It was then that heard a loud snap as the steel contraption clamped hard onto my skinny angle, as a bear trap would. I was whisked into the air with a shriek and hung upside-down, a bundle of white fabric and flailing limbs.

I clawed at the metal that snared my foot only to find that I was actually bleeding. Blood poured down my legs as I kicked and screeched like an animal in attempts to free myself.

After seeing that there was no one to come to my aid, I screamed at the very top of my lungs for someone to help me, but no one came. Who could have heard me down there? Surely, I had fallen into one of the Phantom's traps and all hope was lost.

I screamed and cried some more until I thought that my vocal cords would bleed. I wriggled and writhed with all my might with no luck.

Suddenly, I felt metal fasten around my face. How this was done, I have no idea. Anything could happen in the cellars of the opera.

My hands frantically tried to remove the awful mask only to find that it was attached to me face. I screamed again but to my horror as I made noise, the mask only tightened itself harder onto my face. I had to remain silent, despite the agonizing pain I was in or I would surely die.

Tears filled my eyes at the thought that this never would have happened if I had listened to my mother. Now, because I was so stupid, I was going to die a horrible and painful death. Worst of all, no one would know what happened to me. I would end up like Christine. Not a face or a friend or a fond memory, a name that would forever be referenced with gothic legend.

After a few moments of struggling in my horrified silence, all except for a few sobs, I finally ceased. Perhaps I had give up reason or hope. _Let me die in grace, _I thought. _Angels of heaven, take me up with your golden wings to the palace in the sky where I will be obedient and kind. Day! Yes, day is dawning! The last day breaks for me!_

Suddenly, I ceased everything, even my thoughts. It was not because I was tired or had given up hope, but because a dark shadow with a lantern was slowly making its way over to me.

The dull light gave me a suddenly swell of hope. With quick thinking I was able to sway myself back and worth in hopes of getting the person's attention. The pain was excruciating, but I knew that I had to try to get out of this. It only mattered that I tried.

I couldn't speaking without finishing me off, but the rocking of my bleeding body wasn't enough for them to see me. I had to get their attention with me voice.

Mustering up all my remaining breathe and courage, I was able to utter a soft, "Help me…"

Silence.

"Help me…" I cried a little louder. The bands of metal tightened onto my face this face.

Still no one came.

Panic overwhelmed me. No! I had been so close! They were right in front of me! I had to live…I _wanted_ to live!

"HELP ME!" I screamed feeling the mask clamp the hardest it ever had. I thought my skin was being ripped off.

Suddenly the light grew intensely bright until it was bright orange orb in front of my bloody face. To my relief, I heard voices.

_"By Allah! Monsieur de Chagny, get over here quickly! It's Mademoiselle Giry!"_

The voice was foreign and unfamiliar to me but just as comforting. The mention of Raoul also made my heart leap. I knew then that I was going to survive. I was going to live.

The rest was a blur of voices.

_"Get her down!"_

_"How?" __It's locked onto her foot solid!"_

_"Damn! Look around for a key, boy. Quickly!"_

_"There's nothing-wait-a hair pin!"_

_"Pick the lock!"_

I could feel wet hands holding my blood-soaked ankle and fumbling with the cruel chain that held me.

At last I felt a great pain being lifted from my leg as I tumbled to the ground. Sighs of relief could be heard.

The mask was the next to come off, to my greatest happiness. Once I felt the metal fall from my face, I fell into the nearest warm body I could find.

I looked up with glassy eyes at the place of my near death. To my horror, I saw one of my perfect slippers still hanging on the chain, covered in blood.

_"What happened, Mademoiselle? What are you doing down here? Are you alright?"_

I never had time to answer the questions being hurled at me by my mysterious rescuers. After seeing my mangled slipper from my dancer feet, everything went black.

* * *

History Note: The torture device used on Meg's face was called The Brank. it's purpose was to punish women who gossiped for offense. It was fitted onto the victim's face and tightened as they spoke or screamed, impaling metal spikes into their flesh. In meg's case, her Brank was tightened on its own. In a twist of events and in an ironic way, Meg was punished for lying to her mother and partaking in the gossip of the Opera Ghost. I have such a sick mind, don't I?

I hope you enjoyed this chapter, despite the gore. I promise the next one won't be as gruesome.

Reviews are always appreciated!


	6. Fire and Water

This chapter isn't overly long but just important. I'm afraid that our lovely characters face a few more trials before returning to the "safety" of Erik's home.

R/R

* * *

Resurrection of Erik

Chapter Five

Nadir Khan

Fire and Water

The Vicomte and I made our way through the water as quickly as possible to aid the man or person. I had hoped that it was an animal of some sort but I knew that this was unlikely.

I knew that there was in fact no siren that would harm the unlucky traveler, but there were many more booby traps to be found on the way to Erik's lair. I should know, I've often fallen victim to the dangerous mechanisms that only Erik would think to make. If it were not for their inventor, I wouldn't be on my way to save another soul from the deadly journey.

Then again, many things would be different if I did not know Erik.

I do not know what possessed the Vicomte to leave his precious wife so hurriedly, especially when she is in Erik's keep. Perhaps he thought that there would be some way out of this nightmare or maybe he just fancy playing the hero.

Either way, the boy was a fool for leaving Miss Daae with that monster. Hopefully no further harm will come to either of them. Enough damage has already been done.

We trudged through the awful muck that lined the stone floors or Erik's kingdom. I don't see how any creature could live in such filth.

Out of the corner of eye, I saw the Vicomte looking frantically around for an exit of some sort. I sigh heavily. Why must it always be this way?

I didn't bother facing the boy when I began to speak to him.

"You know, I can't let you go anywhere, Monsieur. I know that you think that you are in danger, and believe me you are, but there is far more peril outside Erik's home. You'd do better to stay here."

"I don't see how anything dealing with him is less dangerous than anything else in the entire world," he sniffed. He was most certainly correct.

"I don't disagree with you, Vicomte. Erik is a hazard to the human race, but what he's planning to do is far worse than anything you could ever imagine."

"Oh? Worse than having your wife's nightmares come back to life and then being forced to have a _tea party _with them? You jest, surely…"

"You are the one who left her alone with her "nightmare." Didn't you think about that?"

"If I escape, then I could spend help for her."

"It'll be too late for help to come by then…it'll be too late for anyone."

"Who's side are you one anyway?!" the Vicomte jeered while stopping in his tracks. His tone, which was normally mild-manner but with a reserved temper, exploded in my face.

"If this plan is so beneficial to us, then why don't you tell it? Who in God's name is staying in an opera house that's about to be blown to smithereens better than escaping on our own? Why not stop your doom saying and help us? Help us, for God's sake!"

I whirled around to look at the boy with far more calmness and clarity than he possessed. De Chagnys, as I have learned, are extremely quick to anger and often hot headed. Royal blood boils easiest I suppose.

"I've helped you _far_ more than you've known," I responded coolly. I had to remember that the poor boy was angry and confused. He would understand my methods in time, hopefully.

"Oh, yes," the Vicomte continued, "standing by as your good chum Erik blows up the opera house is most certainly helpful.

"Need I remind you that it was I that nearly died in showing you to Miss Daae only two weeks ago? Without my assistance, you would both be surely dead."

Raoul sighed heavily. He knew that I was right in my statement, but that proud de Chagny blood coursed through his veins. No, Raoul de Chagny would never admit defeat. Perhaps that is what doomed us all from the beginning, for neither would Erik.

I had hoped that the conversation would end there and we would continue our journey to the unfortunate future victim of Erik, but the Vicomte had other plans.

"How will we know when we've found them?" The Vicomte asked while struggling through the rough terrain.

We were waist deep in water when we heard the screams.

"When we find a hopelessly lost individual or a dead body," I answered coolly.

Instantly, we picked up the pace and made a mad dash for the shore. I had a feeling that we had found our unlucky victim.

Raoul remained silent as I did all the screaming until we found ourselves in the middle of the lake and he suddenly froze.

I turned back to look at the talkative boy but no sooner that I did, the young Vicomte was staring back to the shore in shock.

What we saw sickened me.

In all my years of police work in Persia and in association with Erik, I never saw something so gruesome in my entire life; and to a woman!

"Damn!" I cried over the howls of Miss Giry.

The Vicomte and I were able to free her from the trap with a hair pin that he had discovered on the ground. Once unfastened, the little ballerina fell weeping into my arms, much to my surprise.

"I-I'm alive!" she rasped.

Yes, she was alive, but in very poor condition. The metal mask, or The Brank as Erik referred to it, had gruesomely cut up her pretty face. She wasn't bleeding so much anymore now that she wasn't upside-down, but the gashes could still get infected.

Without the proper tools, little Meg Giry could still die.

I quickly handed the girl over to Raoul who looked at me with confused eyes. As I left, I heard him muttering words of assurance to the near unconscious girl, although there wasn't much to be said at this point.

I returned in minutes with an enormous amount of soot in my arms and some sticks that I managed to scavenge. I plopped the items before the two blonde-haired youths and gave a sigh. "We're to make a fire. Quickly, boy, help me get a flame going! You were in the Navy, were you not? Come now, surely you can help me start this."

Raoul laid Meg gingerly back on the ground and ran to assist me. We set to work immediately and tried to get the materials to spark.

"Why are we building a fire? We could have been back to his house by now…"

"We have to stop the infection."

"Why a fire then?"

"Enough of your questions! Just get the fire going!"

~*~

Little Meg finally woke up just as I was heating my dagger over the open flames. I tired to be discreet and calm when I walked over towards her. I crouched down beside the little ballerina.

"Mademoiselle Meg, this is going to hurt, but it needs to be done."

"You're going to touch me with that thing? Haven't I been injured enough?" she cried as she inched away from me.

"We need to burn your wounds so they won't become infected. If you'll just hold still it'll-"

"No! Don't come any closer to me!"

I sighed. She was hysterical. Erik has gone too far this time. I was hoping it wouldn't come to this.

"Monsieur le Vicomte, please restrain Miss Giry."

They both looked at me in shock and simultaneously shouted out a "What?!"

"Please don't question me now of all times…Raoul," I said calling them by his first name for the first time, "I know what I'm doing."

Raoul looked at me and then to Meg was whimpering and trying to escape us both with no luck on her slashed feet.

"Perhaps-perhaps it's for the best, Meg."

"You could quite easily die of some sort of virus because of all of your gashes. Please, _trust me_!"

Held out my hand to the frightened little girl only to see her creep away from my touch. In the darkness, I could see her shaking her blonde head of shiny hair wildly. _No_. So be it

"Raoul," I responded sadly, "if you please?"

Raoul sulked over to the hysterical little thing and pinned her tiny shoulders to the ground. The poor girl was screaming the entire time.

I came over next with equal sadness and quickly placed the blade to the girl's ripped flesh. Her shrieks of pain were unbearable.

This continued for about twenty minutes until I had successfully sterilized her foot and legs. Then, I moved onto her face, which had twice the wounds and I'm sure was twice as painful.

Finally, the awful and gruesome process was finished. I feel back on my knees with a deep exhale. I suppose I had been holding my breath the entire time.

I looked the knife, which now had cooled, with disgust and hatred. I threw it away not wishing to look at the instrument that had caused more pain that it should have. The same, that knife saved Meg's life, whether she knew it now or not.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Giry, but this way there'll be no threat of contracting any kind of infection."

"But was it worth it?" she cried making sure not to move for it must have hurt so terribly. I cannot even imagine the pain that the frail little dancer was in.

"He had to do something, Meg," Raoul assured her. "You could be dead now if it weren't for the quick thinking of Mon-I mean the Persian."

From the look in the ballerina's eyes, I didn't think that believed a word that had been said that night. I couldn't say that I blamed her.

"We must be off now. Can you walk, Mademoiselle?" I asked Miss Giry who was struggling to get up.

"No…I-I don't think I can."

"Here," Raoul offered the girl as he placed her arm around his strong shoulder. Besides his irrational temper, I could tell that the Vicomte was a good soul at heart and only wanted to do right for everyone. Everyone, that is, but Erik.

We slowly made our way back to the black lake that led to Erik's home. I knew that we were running out of time and that Miss Giry's injuries would delay us so we couldn't even make a run for it. I hope that Erik will not have a change of spirits and just kill us all now. I hope…

~*~

At last, we made it to the very banks of the great reservoir. We trudged through the freezing dark water. Raoul had offered to carry Miss Giry, but she insisted on walking the way she did until it was impossible to do so. Such a stubborn girl!

Slowly, we made our way to the middle of the lake where the water once again stood at our waists. We were all shivering and I swear that I could hear someone's teeth chattering.

But it wasn't the clicking of teeth in the bitter cold, but the timer to some kind of machine.

_Fuck._

In a blur of white foam and screams, I suddenly disappeared from sight and down into the unknown water. There was nothing I could do for myself as I sank to the bottom of the lake. The siren had me now and I knew that I would be lost.

I did not have a chance under the strength of the mighty siren. Though I had known Erik for the worse part of my life, I knew about the strange creature or whatever it was very little. I knew it was secretive, powerful, and with the voice of an angel. Until now, had doubted Erik's claims of one living in the lake; hell, I even thought it to be him at one point. Now, seeing the situation I was in, what else could it be?

There was nothing I could do. I already tried to wrench my leg whatever had a hold on me with no luck. The creature was fast and strong and countered all of my attempted attacks on it that always landed me in the water once more.

I found myself drowning in the shallow water. After everything I'd been through, this is how Allah would take me? If my lungs were not being filled with water, I would have laughed.

Suddenly everything came to an abrupt halt. Nothing had a grip on my leg and I was able to swim to the surface.

I burst through the murky water with a great intake of breath. Water fogged my vision for a moment, but upon rubbing my eyes, I was able to see more clearly. I could now see Miss Meg Giry staring back at me…and only Meg Giry.

I stood up quickly, nearly breaking my balance, and splashed my way over to the girl who did not say a word as I approached her.

"Where is he?" I asked harshly.

"I tried to stop him," she sang sadly, obviously not in her right mind.

"Damn it, woman! Where is the Vicomte?"

"Gone…"

"Gone where, Mademoiselle?" I said trying to regain my formal tone. I didn't want to traumatize the poor girl anymore than she already was.

"He-he said he was going to go make things right…and then he ran up that way." She pointed to a dark tunnel that I knew very well led to the stairs, to the world of light.

I gave out a cry of anguish and slapped some water in frustration. Did I not warn him? Is he so determined to die that he persists to not follow my good advice? He only has an hour to get out of here, _if_ he gets out of here.

Erik is not going to be pleased and for Raoul's sake, I hope that he flew out of this hell like Hermes from the Underworld.

It's strange to think that we're all mythological characters of false gods and stories. Erik is no doubt Hades, lord of darkness and hell. Christine Daae, his unwilling queen, Persephone. Raoul, Hermes, trying to escape and find the light. Meg was no doubt Pandora for her curiosity cost her greatly. But who was I? I was no one.

A nameless figure sulking was my own acclaim to the opera house, but somehow, after tonight, I think that all of our names will go down in history.

That is, if we live to see it become so.


	7. Heaven's Flames

Alrighty, as promised here is chapter 7 in the intricate tale of RoE. This is the very first split POV chapter that I've done just because I feel that the ending flows better from another person's perspective.

I plan to _attempt _to post a chapter a week, but what with school and all, only expect a chapter or so every two weeks. We'll see how things work out though before I condemn myself.

Currently, we are drawing closer and closer to the cliffhanger from the very first chapter. That's right folks, it's almost time for some boom-boom. Just be patient. In this particular chapter, allow me to clear some things up. I know that in ALW's musical version, DJT is already complete (they perform it, actually) and in the Leroux novel, Erik's opera was already finished as he was buried with it. For dramatic effect, I decided to take some poetic license and "unfinish" Erik's masterpiece. Please, don't flame me for this seeing that it's not that important.

Ayway, the lyrics to Erik's Don Juan are translated lyrics to the similar opera, Don Giovanni by Mozart. I googled them so I do not own them or made them up. Also, I plan to go back and edit some things so check out the other chapters when they're all cleaned up and such.

R/R please :)

* * *

Resurrection of Erik

Chapter Seven

Erik

Heaven's Flames I

The organ keys shook below long fingers. I could feel my masked face vibrate from the intense sound coming from my organ. The very foundation of the dark room seemed to crack beneath the great multitude of power that I produced.

I was composing and not any ordinary sonnet or ballad that I normally would in the scarce spare hours of my day. I wasn't rehearsing or instructing Christine for that practice ceased a long time ago. No, I wasn't wasting my music on Christine for I was composing Don Juan Triumphant and Don Juan was for Erik and Erik alone.

It was almost time to put the diamond to use and for my resurrection to be complete, yet Dargora and the boy had not returned with the unfortunate person who strayed into my home. I did not doubt my good friend Nadir Khan's abilities in a search and rescue mission. He had been a police officer after all, but finding a wounded person in my domain was like searching for a needle in a haystack. There were so many places to look!

Perhaps the miscreant had fallen victim to my lovely metal coffin that hung from the ceiling. Unfortunately, that particular device needs manual mechanical handling and I wasn't available to operate it. One of my self-automated tortures surely got the bastard right in his tracks. I've been wanted to try out The Brank for the longest time…

I did not waste minutes of my precious time pacing and watching the clock as Christine did. I could see from the open doorway that every few seconds, she would turn her head of beautiful curls to the clock only to wince away at the thought that it had been over an hour.

She and I both knew that time was running out. Unlike her, I was not concerned. No, I did not worry for my friend or her brave little suitor. I knew that Nadir was too stubborn to die like this and God knows that de Chagnys die proudly. I dare not think that those two will die with this opera house. When their time comes, I have a feeling that it will be far more…creative.

I secluded myself to my music room, hoping to put on the final additions to Don Juan Triumphant. It hardly mattered considering that I made the decision to leave the full libretto to be consumed by the flames of my own triumph. What would happen in less than an hour would be the finishing touch to the work that I slaved over for nearly twenty years. The Garnier's demise would be my finale!

I composed thunderously throughout the entire house, no doubt unnerving Christine more than she already was. I easily pictured her cowering on the sofa, her hands over her eyes, and always watching the clock. For once, tonight I did take her feelings to heart. She obviously never did the same for me. She always practiced her feelings of understanding and compassion on the Vicomte, her husband.

At that thought, I pounded on the keys to my grand organ as hard as possible until I thought blood would pour from my finger tips. To my surprise, they actually did.

My blood sprouted from my fingers like a newly grown plant at the first ray of sunshine. It bled onto my already yellowing organ turning the keys a reddish orange. For I moment, I remained focused on my work, unfazed by the blood, until the pain hit my hands. I stopped abruptly and gripped my left wrist. _Damn_.

I slipped into the kitchen not giving a second glance at Christine, who had been lounging on the sofa, as I expected. I attempted to hide my injuries by slipping my hands further into my ill-fitted waistcoat. She had been reading one of my romance novels but put it aside as I passed her. Her eyes widened as she saw the blood dripping from inside my cuffs. I dare say, I'm not so clever when it comes to hiding my illness and wounds from Christine.

I fumbled about the medicine cabinet and found some bandages and a tonic to stop the bleeding and to close the wounds more efficiently. I no longer cared for the pain that I used to act upon myself. I much prefer seeing the torment of others than my own.

I quickly went to work repairing my hands when I heard a familiar, small voice.

"Do you need help?"

My entire body tingled as I turned around to face Christine. She stood meekly in the doorway, her head cocked to one side like a spaniel. Her large eyes stared questioningly at my carelessly bandaged hands. It was the first time she spoke to me after our discussion with the locket and her tone was pleasant with no hint of scorn or hate that it did only hours ago. How could she be worried for me?

"No, no," I responded going about my business. "I simply was careless in my composing."

"I heard…"

"Don't worry yourself about your Erik. Go busy yourself with something of more meaning to you."

She backed away from the kitchen not making eye contact with me. I heard her sit down on the sofa, rather disconcertingly.

I did not mean to be so cold with her, nor did I enjoy it. But how else was to act? I can't just pursue her affections once more, especially now of all times. We were alone, yes, but she did not want me; she never did. She has her Vicomte now and I will settle for her silent company for now.

I waltzed back into the living room not paying attention to how badly I had attended to my nicks and cuts. I went straight to the music room without another thought. I began to sit down at the organ, which I had not yet rid of my blood, when, to my curiosity, Christine followed.

I spun around on the stool and surprised her by doing so. She knew I did not enjoy being disturbed with I was in this room! Still, I attempted to be kinder towards her. I did, after all put her through so much. Besides, o matter how irksome she was, I loved her.

"Is there something that you require, my dear? "

"I find myself quite unoccupied," she said stepping into the room, "Perhaps-"

"A magazine of some sort? A book perhaps? I doubt that you'll want to read the paper."

"No, no Erik. I was wondering that we possibly could sing something…"

"I am composing."

"Oh, then perhaps…later?"

"If you wish, though there is not much time left."

I could hear her gulp down her fear. I admit, I did find some amusement of how quickly she became uneasy.

"Actually," she said timidly, "I would like the latest edition of the Époque, if you have it, please. I did not get a chance to look at your…obituary."

"Let me go fetch it for you."

I left my precious blood soaked organ and went into the parlor to get the paper.

I myself had not looked at it, or at least in detail. I made sure that Dargora had delivered the request to the Époque in an unsigned envelope. To my knowledge, they had no qualms about putting in three simple words to their newspaper. They were too busy printing stories about the Opera Ghost and the de Chagny wedding.

Without saying a word, I handed the paper, which had been lying unopened on my coffee table, to Christine. She immediately took it back to the sofa and began to study it.

I returned to my music. I had hoped that this would keep her occupied so I could submerge myself fully in my work. It was so close to being complete! I had to finish it before six o'clock in the morning or it would remain the greatest unfinished opera in the world.

The clock ticked away for another hour, making it only a half hour until our journey began.

Christine, who had read the entire Époque from page to page, was back to pacing in front of the clock.

I began to wonder myself if they ever would return. I couldn't very well blow up an opera house while Dagora was still wandering aimlessly around. I hated to admit it, but I am afraid that I need the stupid fool.

This entire time, I was feverishly trying to finish my life's work. I wrote in final half notes and edited the dynamics but other than that, there was little else to be done.

My skeletal hand screamed in pain and my eyes watered from the dim candlelight but I ignored the hurt my body was in and only focused on finishing. I was on the last scene, the duet between Don Juan and Aminta before she exposes him for the fraud he is.

I can feel the music and passion burning in my fingertips as I signed my signature at the bottom of the score. "Erik" it read in my own unique handwriting. Crediting it as my work was fruitless I know considering that no human eyes would ever lay upon it. It would be consumed in the flames of my other triumph, the detonation of the Palais Garnier. However, I still liked to take the blame in God's eyes for my finale.

Don Juan was complete!

~*~

I decided not to inform Christine of my great success. What would she care? She was busing herself with fretting about her precious husband whom may never return.

I never truly stopped to think what caused them to be wed with so much haste. I had given them my blessing to marry, but I distinctly remembered telling the boy to give her away in style. Despite the obvious reasons, myself being one of them, I had thought that they would plan something extravagant that all of Paris would gossip about. The de Chagnys had always had a good flair for such things. It pains me to do so, but I could easily imagine Christine wrapped in yards of glittering fabric trotting shyly down a heavily decorated aisle.

Then again, Christine was never the most materialistic girl. She came from a plain up bringing and was often overwhelmed by the Vicomte's expensive gifts. My own were not as comforting either, especially the locket. In fact, she was so fraught with the thought of owning such a jewel that she refused to accept it. She took it quite willingly after I told her the true power of the diamond locket.

"_This, my dear, is the key to your poor Erik's Heart. Ah, hold it carefully! For you see, Erik's Heart is very fragile. It is never fickle, oh no, not at all, but it has a tendency to become very jealous, as you have learned. So jealous, in fact, that it just may…explode. You now hold the key. So long as you possess it, Erik's Heart will remain intact. BUT, should I become jealous, there's a good chance that we all will become dead and buried. Do you understand Christine? Good. Now, let's begin your lesson, shall we? It may be a good idea to fasten it around your lovely neck. Wouldn't want to loose it now, would we?"_

The use and meaning of the locket then means nothing now. I no longer intend to use it as a device of revenge or as blackmail to win Christine's love. No, that time has passed and the locket will be used for my greatest purpose of all. Resurrection! It no longer matters. All that matters is that my good friends Nadir Khan returns with his companions before six o'clock in the morning or I shall fly with Christine alone. A feat that I myself wouldn't mind doing, but I would think that Christine may have one or two objections to that.

I rose from my organ stool and went back into the living room to find Christine curled up into a tiny ball. Her eyelashes made small shadows under her eyes from the dim candlelight. I put one hand on the doorframe for support. Is it possible for someone to look even more beautiful in slumber?

Without making a sound, I made my way over to her. I raised one hand over her warm silhouette. My hand only hovered over her body. I dare not touch her and disturb her perfect sleep, but I simply stared down at the sleeping angel for awhile.

I longed to touch her, just to graze her skin for a moment, but I knew in my black heart that I wouldn't be able to stop myself should I go further than that innocent touch. I knew of the monster that I would become. I had seen it before!

I pulled my hand back as if she had turned into an electric eel and stepped away. My hand was placed over my heart as if I had just suffered another attack. Even after all this time, after all we had gone through, I still wanted her but was too proud or perhaps too shameful to ever try. I could never live with myself if I ever did the deed. It wouldn't be human…no, it wouldn't be _Erik_.

For what seemed like hours, I merely stared at her sleeping until I knew it was time. It was, after all, half past five o'clock. Only thirty minutes left!

I again made my way over to the sofa being careful not to wake her. But with one word of my voice, I knew that the job would be done.

"Christine."

Her eyes immediately snapped open and flickered over to me. She rose slowly from her sleeping position and sat up to face me. Her eyes then immediately darted to the clock. It read forty minutes past five.

"Is he back? Is Raoul back?"

"No," I answered coolly and simply.

I could see the crushed look in her eyes. Perhaps she had given up hope. I too was beginning to have my doubts.

"Did-did I fall asleep?" she asked looking around.

"I think that that is obvious considering the state of your dress," I said indicating to her rather expensive looking gown that was now wrinkled and crumpled from her nap. "Perhaps a fresh one is in order?"

"You still have my old dresses?" she asked in wonderment as she rose from the couch.

"Of course! You wouldn't think that I would dispose of perfectly good gowns, would you?"

"No?"

"Yes! That seems like a very likely thing for me to do, wouldn't you think?"

"Yes?"

"No! I would never waste such expensive material only because there would be no one to garment the dresses. You don't think me very frugal, do you?"

"I'm not answering that…"

"Clever girl. Perhaps you would do better to just get changed and stop gaping at me like a fish because of my cryptic questions and answers. I trust that you have grown used to them by now. Do you understand me?"

She merely nodded this time, obviously confused. Sometimes, that was the best thing for Christine. Ignorance is bliss, after all.

"No…" I murmured not looking her face to see her confusion this time. "You have just begun to understand me…you'd better hurry, my dear. I leave at six o'clock whether you are dressed or not. I wouldn't want to spirit you away in your corsets and garters!"

I laughed darkly as she quickly descended into her bedroom and slammed the door. Perhaps I was being inappropriate, but considering the grave situation we were all in, I think levity should be tolerated, even from the likes of me.

Christine returned a few moments later with a simpler pink dress that she had worn on past occasions in my home. She was fastening the bows on the bodice of it when she emerged from her quarters. Her hands rose to above her head and to her back as she attempted to secure the other ribbons.

I sprang forward and around her in one quick swirl of black to the small pink figure.

"Allow me," I said clasping the small bows in my skeletal hands. Christine didn't bother to protest, for she knew me too well. Besides, there's nothing much you can do when a madman is behind you.

I don't know what possessed me to be so forward with her, especially after the vulgarity I had displayed, but she allowed me to carefully fasten the remainder of the bows. But as I did so, I could see the hairs on the back of her white neck literally stand up. It could have been from the coldness of my icy touch, but methinks she is still frightened of me after all this time. I could not possibly blame her.

"There," I proclaimed as I locked the last bow firmly into place.

I could hear a soft "thank you" be murmured as she shuffled back to the safety of the sofa. I reminded behind and continued to stare at the little bows laced into her dress as they bobbed behind her.

No sooner did she position herself on the sofa did I speak.

"We shall sing now!"

"Now?"

"No better time, my dear. It will be the last time any singing is ever performed in _this _opera house. Don't you think it fitting that we be the last to partake in its song?"

"But Erik, the time! We've only have twenty minutes left!" Her eyes dashed to the clock and then to the door only to come back and look into mine. Christine gave me that wide-eyed look that she often did whenever she felt things were amiss. But what was she to do? She had no choice! No, she always had to listen to Erik.

She came obediently over to the organ but with a certain cautiousness that she did not display the last time she entered the music room. I sat down at the organ as I always did; I looked back at her and beckoned her to come closer.

"What shall we sing?" Christine asked warily as she glanced at my many musical scores.

"Oh, I think that some Don Juan Triumphant is in order-"

"Don Juan? Erik, you've finished it?"

"Obviously, my dear. You wouldn't think that I would have us sing unfinished music? I am not Mozart!" I laughed a bit at my little joke but soon composed myself.

I positioned myself on the organ and began to play the finale to my new opera.

* * *

Resurrection of Erik

Chapter Seven

Vicomtesse Christine Daae de Chagny

Heaven's Flames II

The music was like nothing I had ever heard before. It stunned my senses and ceased every movement and breath in my body. The music made me forget. Forget about Raoul and Monsieur Khan and about the very fact that the opera house was about to explode in mere minutes. I focused only on the music.

Erik had been right when he said that Don Juan burned. He had said that it was from flames not of heaven or God but of hell and the demons who dwelled there.

Oh, how it burned! I soon found myself against the farthest stone wall with one hand pressed to my heart. My pulse began to quicken with the tempo of the thunderous music that was erupting in my ears. What was happening to me?

I thought that the worst was over, but that was before he sang. Once Erik opened his terrible mouth, I knew that my fate was sealed.

_Terrors unknown are freezing me  
Demons of doom are seizing me  
Is hell let loose to torture me?  
Or does it mock my sight?_

He violently turned to me for my part in the twisted duet. I could barely make out a whisper from the great shock I was in. But once the chord was played, my cue for entrance, something took hold of me. A force, more powerful than Erik, took over my body, my mind, and my soul. I sang with all my might.

_The fire of doom surrounds him,  
Its fiery glare confounds him  
What sounds, what sights of terror  
Oh, I shall die_

_Oh, I shall die of fright!_

Together, in one miraculous duet of splendor and passion, we closed his opera with the power of our voices. I think that heaven itself quaked beneath the shear awesomeness of our final cry to the human world.

_Torments eternal wait thee!  
Burning in endless night!_

_No more to see the light!_

At the last chord the triumphant aria, I could feel the room begin to spin. My palms grew sweaty and hot as if they were being pulled towards a furnace.

I stumbled away from the organ with a my hand laid across my heart. Something's not right…not right.

The room began to spin rapidly around me until, to my horror, I too was spinning with it. Just before I faded to darkness, I could hear the front door suddenly slam upon.

I felt myself fall heavily to the floor. I could only make out the shapes and shadows of the people around us before everything went black.

_Raoul?_


End file.
